Just a Feeling
by laurenroo
Summary: Phil's perspective. My take on what happens when Phil dies. *WARNING* Character death, mentions of self harm/suicide. Contains slash. Sort of a fix-it.


Title and some lines taken from "Just a Feeling" by Maroon 5.

_I watched you cry bathed in sunlight by the bathroom door. You said you wished you did not love me anymore. _

Phil doesn't know much. He also doesn't understand what is happening. He opens his eyes to a dark room. His vision is fuzzy, like it usually is when he first wakes up. He waits for things to get a little clearer but they don't. Everything looks a little softer around the edges, smeared and blurry. He isn't sure how long he has been asleep. He just wants to find Clint and let him know how much he missed him. Phil can't remember much. His head feels hazy, like the morning after a long night of drinking, but there is no pain. He feels empty.

He doesn't know much.

But Phil knows he is dead.

Phil isn't afraid. He is in a room painted blue, calming but sterile. The room is empty, just four blue walls surrounding a confused Phil. There are two doors. A sign hangs on each door, just two symbols lacking words to explain what they mean.

The door to the left is old fashioned, made of strong sturdy wood, once painted white but now faded and peeling. The trim around the door is an oxidized copper. The reddish brown shines through a layer of green and white. The sign on the door consists of two arrows, both pointing left, both missing their stems. Attached tip to straight edge, like two lovers locked in a spooning cuddle.

The door on the right is much newer. It is made of paper, thick and unyielding, but fragile looking; it could crumble at any time. The trim around this door is shiny silver, bright, polished, the epitome of brand new. This door has a single arrow on its sign. This arrow is also missing its stem, but it points right, a lone figure standing in solitude.

Naturally, Phil chooses the wooden door.

Once inside, the room whirs into a rows and rows of filing cabinets. Each cabinet is painted a different color. Some are red, some green, some pink with hearts outlining the handle. Most of them are gray, dull and boring, like most of Phil's life.

He opens the closest drawer, a pale blue; it reminds Phil of pain and sorrow. An image is projected onto a white background. Phil turns around to see a much younger version of himself, climbing the stairs to the top of the slide. That was the day Phil had broken his arm. He remembered sliding down on his stomach, reaching the bottom and pushing his arm out to brace himself, to protect his head from the fall. The arm had snapped like a dead limb under the weight of a heavy snow. He closed the drawer, a dull ache coursing through the once broken bone.

The next cabinet he opens is red. The screen portrayed is one of a failed mission. He could see the bodies of junior agents littering the streets. He felt the misery of a failure come rushing back, the smell of blood, the sound of crying mothers and tears being shed for their lost children. Phil slammed the drawer shut and punched it hard enough to break his fist.

But he was dead. There was no physical pain, just the emptiness of broken dreams, of a botched mission.

The next drawer is gray. It portrays an image of Phil sitting at his desk. He is filling out paperwork; he doesn't specifically remember this day but days without missions, days without Clint all tended to blend together. The clip ends and the drawer slides shut on its own.

Phil finally walks toward one of the pink drawers. He had avoided them until know. Without even opening it, he knows the drawers are connected to Barton. No. Clint. These drawers have Clint's name written all over them. He can just imagine Clint's initials carved into the metal in Phil's orderly handwriting. The drawer opens. Phil slowly turns around. This is his and Clint's first kiss. He can tell before Clint even enters the frame. It had been a particularly stressful mission; Clint had been assumed dead. Phil is writing out the necessary forms to declare Barton a loss, gentle tears sliding down his cheeks. He can hear a flurry outside his office door and the shouts of junior agents. The door slams open and there is Barton. He is bruised and battered but clearly not deceased.

For a moment, Phil forgets this isn't real. He reaches out to touch Barton's cheek, missing the way he would sigh and lean into Phil's hand. Phil molds into the screen, he becomes the Phil he was watching only moments ago. Now he is seeing it from his perspective, like he did when this moment first occurred. And then Barton is apologizing for screwing up the mission. Phil wants to rush forward and kiss him, tell him that it wasn't his fault, he is just glad that Clint is safe; he wants to feel Clint's warmth beneath his hands, running his fingers through Clint's sweaty hair, not caring who knows. And then, true to the actual portrayal, Phil does rush forward. He pulls Clint into a hug whispering reassuring phrases into Clint's ear. Clint leans back and goes in for the kiss. Phil melds into Clint as their tongues battle for dominance. Phil relinquishes control and allows Clint to map out his mouth. This moment is perfect. He loves the way that Clint's tongue feels against his own, heavy and unwavering. It is the mark of a true lover. Phil couldn't risk their working relationship by kissing Clint; he wasn't even sure if Clint felt the same way. Now he knows. Clint wants him. They can make this work. They break apart, panting into each other's mouths. Phil tells Clint that he loves him; he has always loved him but was just too scared to bring his feelings to light.

The projection ends. That was they day Phil and Clint had decided to make a life together. He aches for the lost time. He hates that they can never have that again. He wants to curl into a ball and cry, let all of the repressed emotions of 40 years come seeping out. He doesn't though. He will make himself watch the rest. He closes the drawer and walks to the next cabinet. He opens the pink drawer knowing full well that it will emotionally drain him. He needs this. He needs to see Clint's face, to know that what they had was real. He opens the drawer and braces himself for the emotional onslaught.

Clint has Phil pushed up against the wall. They are still in the hall outside of Phil's bedroom. Clint opens his mouth just a fraction, signaling to Phil that he wants to deepen the kiss. Phil slowly licks his way into place, mapping out the insides of Clint's mouth like a new territory, then pulls back slowly and re-enters, creating a rhythm. Clint sucks Phil's tongue into his mouth, pulling their bodies impossibly close. They break apart panting but never letting their lips leave the others.

"I want you to fuck me."

Phil feels himself go completely hard at the words Clint utters, almost disbelieving what he knows he heard. He pushes Clint into his room and to the bed. They fall backwards together, never breaking the kiss they so desperately need. Clothes are slowly peeled off. He stands up to remove his pants, admiring Clint in his black boxer briefs. Phil kneels down, licking Clint's length from base to head through the thin cotton. Clint lifts his hips off of the bed as Phil rids him of his boxer. He looks down at Clint with lust in his eyes as his cock proudly stands at attention. He lowers himself onto Clint, devouring his mouth. He can't get enough contact. Their bodies line up perfectly, Phil fitting into the hollow of Clint's hips, one leg resting between Clint's, their bodies meshing like they were made for each other. But still, Phil wants more. He slowly kisses down Clint's body, first attacking the sensitive space behind Clint's ear. He makes his way down, sucking each nipple into his mouth and twirling it around his tongue for a moment before licking down to Clint's belly button, swirling his tongue around the dip, all while using his hands to cup Clint's balls, one finger swirling around Clint's puckered opening. He skips over Clint's cock, choosing to focus his tongue on the tight ring denying access to Clint's smooth hole.

Clint's panting turns into moaning as Phil penetrates him with his tongue. Once Clint is sufficiently wet, Phil inserts one finger, pushing forward slowly. Not satisfied with in prepping, he stands to retrieve the lube, returning with the bottle and two generously coated fingers. He works the fingers inside curling them until Clint lets out something between a moan and a shout, knowing he hit the right spot. He scissors his fingers, working Clint open and getting him ready. Clint is begging beneath him, needed more of Phil. Phil hands a condom to Clint who rips it open and slowly rolls it onto Phil's dick. Phil lines his cock up with Clint's hole and Clint eagerly thrusts forward, trying to impale himself on Phil. With one swift movement, Phil pushes in to the hilt. He stops, giving Clint a chance to adjust. He knows if he doesn't wait, he will cum right then. But then Clint is squeezing his muscles around Phil, becoming tighter, and Phil can't take the pressure. He slowly pulls out and thrusts back in. Clint starts to push back at Phil, making Phil's cock go impossibly deeper. Phil's steady rhythm soon becomes erratic as both of their breathing speeds up. Clint comes with a shout, muttering Phil's name through the aftershocks as Phil continues to plow ahead. Three strokes later and Phil's mouth opens into a breathless "O", silently moaning out Clint's name. He leans forward, attaching his lips to Clint's neck while they both try to capture their breaths, slowly coming down from their high together. Clint looks at Phil and gives him a post-coital smile, one that Phil had come to treasure. Going in for a kiss, Phil stops and Clint's ear, nibbling on the lobe and whispering.

"I love you."

Phil is abruptly brought back to the present as the video ends. He looks down at his cum stained suit pants and realizes he wasn't just watching. Someone he had participated in the sex. He realizes that he can relive all of the wonderful moments. Clint can be his for a short period of time again. He slowly makes his way around the room, knowing there are many more experiences to revisit.

Once Phil has thoroughly explored the filing room, he makes his way back through the heavy wooden door. He contemplates opening the paper door, wanting to know what lies behind. He slowly pushes the door open and makes his way into the room. This room appears to be another filing room. However, upon further inspection, he realizes there is only one filing cabinet, only one drawer. The drawer has CLINT written on it, Phil recognizes his own handwriting and quickly opens the drawer.

The scene before Phil is something he has never seen before. He sees Clint sitting in their bathroom, curled up in the corner by the door. Clint is sobbing, his whole body racked with sorrow. Phil wants to reach out and comfort Clint. He walks towards the projection and steps into the picture. He calls Clint's name but Clint doesn't look up.

"I wish I didn't love you anymore." Clint speaks so quietly that Phil isn't positive he hears correctly. And then Clint looks up, directly at Phil. His eyes are glossy and glazed over, tears distorting his vision, but he doesn't seem to see the man standing before him.

"Why did you leave? Why didn't you wait for backup?" In that moment, Phil realizes he is watching life unfold. This is not a recording of time passed but a live stream of those still living. He reaches out and touches Clint and for a moment, he thinks Clint can feel his touch. Clint stares down at his shoulder but quickly diverts his gaze towards the bathtub.

"Clint. I love you. I am so sorry for all I have put you through. I am here. I came back." Clint stands and climbs into the bathtub. Phil can see the familiar look of determination on Clint's face. Whatever he has decided, he can't be talked out of it now.

"Clint?"

Clint pulls a razor from the wire basket hanging from the showerhead. Clint turns on the water and lets it pour over him, fully clothed.

"Clint? What are you doing?" Carefully breaking the razor, he pulls out one single blade, sharp and glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Phil watches as Clint places the razor against his skin, a gloomy contrast to his naturally tan skin.

"Clint! No, stop! Don't do this" Clint doesn't look in Phil's direction. Phil knows Clint can't hear him. Phil isn't really there. Trying to get Clint's attention was as useless as yelling at the actresses in horror movies. Phil keeps yelling, desperately trying to get Clint to notice him. He won't give up, not now.

Clint slices the razor through his right wrist then switches hands and slices the other. Phil watches in horror as the man he loves bleeds onto the bathroom floor, the water in the bathtub turning a shade of pink that has Phil sick to his stomach. Phil sinks to his knees, accepting that he can do nothing to help, wishing someone will find Clint before it's too late, and sobs into his hands.

When he looks up, he is back in the first room, blue walls surrounding him.

"Phil?"

Phil looks towards the voice and rushes forward, pulling Clint's crumpled form into a passionate kiss, determined to never leave him again.


End file.
